


Ms. Bandit Schitt Esq., The Masked Hero of Schitt's Creek

by kiranerys42



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Humor, M/M, but no actual sex, explicit conversations about sex, raccoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:01:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26726341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiranerys42/pseuds/kiranerys42
Summary: There's a raccoon wreaking havoc on Schitt's Creek. Or is she helping? Read on to find out!
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 14
Kudos: 28
Collections: Raccoons Everywhere!





	Ms. Bandit Schitt Esq., The Masked Hero of Schitt's Creek

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY [INTERNATIONAL RACCOON APPRECIATION DAY](https://raccoonday.wordpress.com/), EVERYONE!
> 
> But seriously. Raccoons are pretty cool.
> 
> Thank you to [yourbuttervoicedbeau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/pseuds/yourbuttervoicedbeau) for helping me with the changing POVs. Why did I write changing POV!? I've never done that before. It was a terrible decision.
> 
> Please enjoy this silly story about Patrick, David... and a raccoon.

Patrick was having a bad day.

It started first thing in the morning, when he stopped by Cafe Tropical for his daily cup of tea.

“I’m sorry, Patrick,” Twyla said. “The raccoon broke in last night and ransacked the kitchen—I think she must really like chamomile? And mint. And English breakfast. Because she tore through _all_ the tea.”

Patrick was halfway to Rose Apothecary, a cup of disappointing decaf in hand, before he thought to wonder how Twyla knew the raccoon was a _she_.

So, he asked her when he returned for lunch.

“Oh, she’s got a very feminine energy,” Twyla said confidently, as she handed Patrick his grilled cheese—apparently, the raccoon had also gotten into the ham, salami, and eggs, which greatly limited his sandwich options. “I’m very good at telling what gender animals are. Well, except for my niece’s pediatrician’s cockatoo? I think they might be genderfluid.” 

It wasn’t just the tea and the sandwich that were ruining Patrick’s day, though. There was also the fact that he was running the store by himself, because David had to go to Elmdale to meet with a vendor. And David had forgotten his phone—which Patrick had learned after a _very_ embarrassing text exchange with Alexis, who was apparently in possession of David’s phone—so he couldn’t even text David about his disastrous day. 

Patrick was standing behind the counter, sadly scrolling through his messages as if he could somehow will a text from David into existence simply by wishing for it hard enough, when Jocelyn walked through the door.

“Um—Patrick?” she asked. “Are the peaches out front supposed to all have bites taken out of them? Also the apples. And the strawberries. Maybe it’s the raccoon? She already stole Rollie’s garden gnome, and believe me, he was _not_ pleased about it, considering what he’d hidden inside of it…”

Patrick was so deep in his reverie of wishful thinking, it took him a moment to really hear what Jocelyn was saying. But then he was drawn back into the world of reality; a world where he couldn’t have his morning tea, or his afternoon sandwich, or text his boyfriend.

And apparently, a world where even the fruit right outside the front door wasn’t safe from that fucking raccoon.

*

David’s day was long, but it was good; the vendor visit had gone well, and tonight, he’d get to eat pizza with Patrick in his brand new apartment. It was still pretty empty, but there was a bed, a fridge for the leftover pizza, and most importantly, no Ray. That was all that really mattered to David. 

“So, how was your day?” David asked when he got to Patrick’s apartment that night.

“Awful,” Patrick grumbled. “Terrible. Miserable.”

“Oh no,” David said. He set the pizza down on the counter, then wrapped his arms around Patrick. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Patrick returned David’s embrace, and buried his face in David’s neck. “Not really,” Patrick said, his lips tickling at David’s neck. “Just want to eat pizza, then maybe break in my new bed.”

“Mm, that sounds good to me,” David replied.

They consumed most of the pizza, made good use of Patrick’s new shower (which was just barely big enough to fit both of them), and got settled into bed.

“So, what did you have in mind for us to do in your brand-new bed tonight?” David asked.

“I thought—maybe—you could fuck me?” Patrick gasped as David sucked a hickey onto Patrick’s neck—low enough for Patrick to hide under one of his blue button-ups; David had learned that lesson a long time ago.

“Sounds good to me,” David agreed. “Where are the condoms? And the lube?”

“Oh, I set them out on the window sill earlier, let me—”

“Mm-mm, you stay here and take the rest of your clothes off,” David said, tugging at Patrick’s jeans. “I’ll go.”

David checked the window closest to the bed. Then the other window. Then the _other_ window. Then he stopped and counted the windows, to make sure there were only three. 

He even checked the bathroom (which had a door, _thank you very much, Ray_ ), just to be safe.

“Patrick? I can’t find them.” On the way back to the bed, David spotted the bottle of lube on the floor under the window nearest to the bed, the first one he’d checked, so he bent over and picked it up. “Just this,” David said, holding up the lube and wiggling his hand. 

“That’s...weird,” Patrick said, “maybe—”

He was cut off by a loud rustling sound outside the window.

“Oh my _god_ ,” David said, dropping the lube in surprise. “What was _that_?”

“Probably that goddamn raccoon,” Patrick said. “She’s a menace.”

“What?” David asked. Did Patrick’s new apartment building have a pest problem? Did they need to call a raccoon exterminator, or something? Did Schitt’s Creek even _have_ an exterminator, or—or animal control? What if they had to call _Ted_? There’s no way Ted was prepared to deal with _raccoons_ —

“David,” Patrick said. “Don’t worry about it. Come back to bed, okay?”

David picked the lube up from where he’d dropped it and got back in bed.

“It’s okay, David,” Patrick said, but David could tell it wasn’t okay. “You can just—fuck my thighs, or I can give you a blowjob, or… whatever. At least we still have the lube. I guess she decided she’d ruined my day enough already...” Patrick grumbled. David was _definitely_ going to need to ask some questions about this raccoon later.

They lay there for a moment, neither one making a move to pick up where they’d left off. Patrick hadn’t even managed to take his jeans off.

David felt so bad, even though he knew it wasn’t his fault. Patrick’s day had been terrible, and David hadn’t been able to support him through it, because he’d forgotten his fucking phone—okay, maybe _that_ part was his fault, but really it was _Alexis’s_ fault; she’d distracted him this morning talking about Hootsuite, and she’d _insisted_ he needed to put it on his phone _right away_ to manage Rose Apothecary’s ‘burgeoning social media presence,’ and he _might_ have snapped at her to ‘do it herself if it was so important,’ and handed over his phone, and—well. It was all her fault.

And now, Patrick’s evening with David was turning into one more disappointment. Maybe that’s why David said what he said next, even though he knew he shouldn’t.

“Um, I actually… I mean, if you wanted to… I got tested? So. We could still… without. The condoms.” David cringed. He really shouldn’t; he shouldn’t, because safe sex is important, and they’d always used condoms, without even talking about it, really, and he didn’t want to make Patrick uncomfortable, or—

“When did you get tested?” Patrick asked, interrupting David’s train of thought. So David stopped thinking, and just answered.

“Um, it was...a while ago? But obviously I haven’t been with… uh, since then. I’ve just been with you.” David clears his throat. “It was after—after Sebastien?” David couldn’t seem to keep his voice from rising higher and higher. “Like, right after. And also three months after. He’s skeevy, so—I was safe, but—I wanted to be sure.” David buried his face in the pillow. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I—I’m sorry, _wow_ , what a way to ruin the mood.”

“Hey,” Patrick said, stroking David’s hair. “You haven’t ruined the mood.”

“I beg to differ,” David said into the pillow.

“Um,” Patrick said after a moment. “I—I actually did, too.”

“You—” David stopped himself from saying _slept with Sebastien_ , because, wow, that definitely didn’t happen. “You… got tested?” David rolled over, and saw that Patrick was blushing, which David _loved_ ; Patrick was beautiful when he blushed, even if he shouldn’t be blushing, because he shouldn’t be embarrassed; getting an STI test was nothing to be embarrassed about. Even if David was embarrassed about it. But David's embarrassment was justified; he was embarrassed to have slept with Sebastien. Patrick hadn’t slept with Sebastien. He had no reason to be embarrassed. 

“Yeah, um—a few months ago. Or. Maybe a bit more? Than that?”

“Oh. Okay.” David thought back to a few months ago. Then he thought about _more_ than a few months ago. “But—like—how much more?”

“Um… after that first open mic? Like. Right after. Just a couple days later.”

“So, after the first time I…” _fucked you_ , David didn’t say, because he wasn’t entirely sure the two events were connected. But he had a suspicion they were. 

“Yeah. I—I really like the idea of it? Of you…” Patrick trailed off. 

“Fucking you bare,” David supplied. 

“Yeah, that,” Patrick said, his blush turning an even deeper shade of red. “And—and coming inside me.”

“I like that idea too,” David agreed. “I’ve never—” David had to look away from Patrick to finish his thought. “I’ve never done that before? With anyone.”

“Really?” Patrick said with surprise. “Well—I guess that makes sense. Um. With Rachel—” Patrick bit his lip, but David gestured for him to go on, and he did. “We didn’t—she was on the pill, then she got an IUD, so we never really had to? We probably should have.” Patrick sighed. “We were really young, when we started dating. We didn’t always make good choices. Like dating in the first place,” Patrick said wryly. “In hindsight, that probably wasn’t a good choice, either.” 

“Mm, well you know me—I’m an expert on good life choices,” David teased.

“Well, you’re dating me,” Patrick said, and _finally_ , he started taking his jeans off.

*

The next morning, Patrick woke up feeling sore in all the right ways. He rolled over to snuggle up to David, but David... wasn't there. 

Patrick blinked his eyes open and looked around the still-mostly-dark apartment for David. What was he doing up so early? Patrick heard David before he saw where he was standing in the kitchen, his phone pressed to his ear. 

"What do you _mean_ , a raccoon stole her wig?" David hissed. He probably thought he was being quiet, but the sibilance of his whispering was actually quite loud. 

Patrick knew he should fully wake up and offer to help David with his family fiasco. But he was surprisingly tired, so he dozed off instead, dreaming of a raccoon wearing Maureen. Or was it Magdalena? He could never remember what the pink one was called.

*

“So, it turns out the green tea at Cafe Tropical was recalled, because it contained traces of _other_ green plants that you should _not_ be drinking in your morning tea,” David said, handing Patrick a cup of what was apparently not green tea. “So you’re stuck with decaf again. Sorry.”

“I guess I can handle decaf two days in a row,” Patrick sighed.

“And Jocelyn told me a _very_ interesting story about how Roland’s garden gnome was painted with lead paint. _Lead paint!_ She thinks that’s what caused his recent stomachaches, but my money’s still on her Tuna Casserole Surprise. The surprise isn’t the stomachache, it’s what comes _after_.” David grimaced. Patrick didn’t ask what came after.

“So… what you’re telling me is, the raccoon did us all a favor? But what about your mom’s wig? And… last night?”

“Well, I’d say last night the raccoon _definitely_ did us a favor,” David said, and Patrick couldn’t help but smile as he nodded in agreement. God, he was _still_ sore; it was amazing. David was amazing. “And as for the wig—”

“David, Patrick!” Moira exclaimed as she walked into Rose Apothecary. “Maureen is no more! But this is a blessing in masquerade, for the real tragedy is that _apparently_ Maureen is a _fake_! A fraud! An imposter!”

“...Okay?” David said. “I’m sorry?”

“Thanks to that disreputable young lady—”

“Just to be clear,” Patrick interrupted, earning him a glare from David, “by _young lady_ , you mean the raccoon.”

“Yes, of course, that’s what I said—thanks to that fiendish little animal, Maureen has had an unfortunate encounter with a power line!”

Patrick didn’t know how to respond, so he didn’t. David was silent, too.

“Um. My condolences? On her… demise?” David finally said, after a long, uncomfortable pause. 

“And she _melted_!” Moira continued. “Like the Wicked Witch of the West. Oh, what a world, indeed! And the _smell_ —”

David and Patrick spent the next few minutes consoling Moira on her apparently synthetic wig. They managed to keep from laughing until Moira left, but only barely.


End file.
